A Family Affair, Part Two
by The Sparrow's Wing
Summary: The Cullens have been reunited, and now they're moving on with their lives. But nothing is ever as easy as it seems...
1. Chapter 1

**A Family Affair, Part Two**

**A/N: **This is the fourth "book" in my series. If you haven't already, I would recommend reading the other stories: Cry Little Sister (1), Golden (2), and A Family Affair, Part One (3). And if something in any of my stories sounds familiar, I don't own it.

**Chapter One**

When Edward and I returned to the house on that cold Christmas night of 1931, I knew what it would mean to Carlisle and Esme. They loved us in every way that parents should love their children, and it had greatly pained them to have their only son away from the family, leading the life that he did. But all that pain would have been worth it when they had him back.

Edward stopped at the foot of the porch steps. Looking up at the large white seaside mansion, he thought with a tight smile, _It's a beautiful house. You've made a beautiful life for yourselves. Without me. I don't deserve to share that life with you, sister, or Esme or Carlisle._

I reminded him gently, _Our life without you, Edward, has no beauty. It may seem that way, but it's just an illusion. Without you, we live in complete misery_. Smiling warmly, I added, _They'll be happy to see you._

As usual, I was right. Esme broke down sobbing when she spied Edward in the doorway to the parlor; even in her immortal body that would never weaken or tire, she didn't have the strength to get up from her desk and embrace him. But that didn't matter because Edward was cradling her in his arms in the same instant that she sobbed his name. Carlisle, who in my fading human memories had sobbed over me when he'd taken me to my aunt Sophia that night I'd lost my parents and Edward, was even sobbing a little when Edward released Esme and extended his hand to him. Any human father might have bitten back any emotion at the return of his only son and shaken his son's extended hand, but Carlisle was no human father, and he loved Edward more than any human father could love his human son. So Carlisle knocked Edward's hand away and wrapped him in an enormous hug that would have crushed the bones of even the strongest human.

They did not question Edward's return, afraid that any question they ask might change his mind. They also did not judge him for the choice he'd made, especially Carlisle who, even though he believed that we could and should protect the humans we were supposed to kill, held no judgment against those who did not believe as he did.

A week later, on the afternoon of New Year's Eve, there was a knock on our front door. Edward and I answered the door, only to be met with Mayor Stevens, Carl Finley and his son Joshua, and Alan Green and his son Derek, the heads of the only other families left in Collinsport. Mayor Stevens, who seemed the most upset out of the five men, asked if Carlisle was at home; I replied that he was and asked Edward to show the men into the front parlor while I fetched Carlisle.

When all the men had been seated comfortably in the parlor (which they all regarded with awe, considering we were in the middle of the Depression), Carlisle leaned gracefully against the mantle and queried, "Now, gentlemen, what occasion has brought you to our home?"

Mayor Stevens's eyes flickered anxiously towards Esme and me sitting silently side-by-side on the piano bench, Edward standing just behind us. Mayor Stevens didn't want a female audience to the shame of the announcement he was about to make. So he said, nervously licking his lips, nodding in our direction, "Carlisle, your wife and sister-in-law may not wish to be present for this. I'm sure they've no interest in politics and economics."

At that, Edward snorted lightly out of his nose and answered for Carlisle, "I beg your pardon, Mayor, but I'm sure my sisters are perfectly content with remaining here. They have shown an interest in politics and economics in the past."

For a split second, Mayor Stevens's nostrils flared angrily and his eyes tightened warily at Edward's disrespect. But he huffed, "Fine," and turned his gaze back to Carlisle. "Carlisle," Stevens said, dying a little on the inside to finally admit this out loud, "we've all decided to leave Collinsport." His smooth brow furrowing, Carlisle asked why.

This time, it was Carl Finley who replied, "There's nothing here for us, Dr. Cullen. There's no money for us and there's no way for us to make money here. We have to leave to find work to make money, or our families will all die."

Carlisle's dark eyes flickered across the faces of the men in the room. He'd been expecting this announcement for some time now, and the only surprise he was showing was staged. "Where will you and your families go?" he asked softly, looking down at the full teacup he held in his hand and swirling it gently.

"Probably Portland or Augusta," young Derek Green answered. As soon as he said it, he had the dim hope that our family would follow, but that hope shattered itself when he glanced quickly over at my stone profile. _There's no chance she'd ever be with me,_ he thought sadly.

With a heavy sigh, Carlisle stated, "I'm very sorry, gentlemen. I know how much this town meant to you." He paused again and pretended to take a drink of his tea. "Well, unfortunately, gentlemen, your announcement was very well timed." Looking upset at that, they started demanding why; Carlisle explained, "Esme and I, and Emily and Edward as well, have also decided to leave Collinsport." The question swept across all their faces. Carlisle went on, "My mother and father live in Rochester, New York, and they're struggling to stay afloat because they're both too elderly and sickly to do any work that is required of them. So we've decided to move to Rochester to support them."

Unable to find the right words for a moment, Mayor Stevens suddenly burst out, "But what if there's not a place at a hospital for you, Carlisle? And how could your doctor's salary alone support six people? And what about Emily? Doesn't someone have to take care of her?"

Sighing again, Carlisle answered, "Mayor Stevens, Esme and I have already discussed all of this. There is an available position at the hospital that I intend to take; Esme has been offered a teaching position there, and Edward plans on splitting his time between being my assistant at the hospital and helping my mother and father take care of Emily when she's ill. We'll be all right, I assure you."

They weren't convinced. They spent another twenty minutes trying to convince Carlisle that our family needed to accompany the Stevenses, the Finleys, and the Greens to Portland or Augusta or wherever they would end up going. But in the end, the five men left our house-the only one left in town that held some token of the life that had existed before the Depression-even more disheartened and broken than they already were.

And exactly one week later, that great house, the one which had been the most splendid and elegant in town, stood sadly empty, its bare rooms echoing with the sounds of silence and the faraway thunder of the crashing winter waves.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Just a friendly reminder, if it sounds familiar in any way, chances are I didn't make it up myself.  
**

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Chapter Two**

The lie Carlisle had given to Mayor Stevens wasn't entirely false; we did move to Rochester, New York, and there was a position at the hospital available and waiting for Carlisle. But we had no family to support other than ourselves and therefore no obligation to anyone but the family we'd created for ourselves.

Rochester had not suffered the way Collinsport had. While Collinsport had become a ghost town, abandoned by even the people who'd once sworn to never leave, Rochester was still going on with everyday life as if the Great Depression didn't exist.

Of course it happened that only a few days after we had finally settled into our new house on the far edges of the Corn Hill neighborhood (a terrible, horrible name that made us all cringe every time we heard or thought of it), our new neighbors felt it necessary to introduce themselves and welcome us to Rochester. They were no different than most neighbors we'd had in the past: men who tried to block out their own perverted thoughts out of respect for Esme and me as well as their wives; women who feigned warmth and politeness to cover their own insecurities and jealousies; and sometimes children who, depending on their age, would either cling to their mother's skirts or cower behind her in our presence, even when we offered them warm, reassuring smiles.

Thankfully, a snow storm struck almost a week after our arrival in Rochester. So while our neighbors burrowed in their houses, we took the opportunity to settle into the house in ways we normally couldn't during the day, just in case the neighbors were watching too closely. The most important was carefully hiding Carlisle's entire life savings throughout the house because we no longer trusted the banks. Between the four of us, we all found and created some interesting hiding places scattered through the mansion-secret drawers in each of the desks belonging to everyone in the family; newly-built compartments in the walls behind the bookcases in Edward's and my bedrooms, the library, and Carlisle's office; beneath the bottom stair of the wide, sweeping staircase; tucked into various trinkets and statues sprinkled throughout the living room and parlors. What we couldn't stash in the house went into the heavy chest that once held the crucifix from Carlisle's father's church, and Carlisle carefully hid the chest in the darkest, dustiest corner of the wine cellar.

One cold, February afternoon in 1932, after the snow storm had long been over, Edward and I were playing around on the piano, playing goofy songs we'd made up and making up new ones, when the doorbell echoed loudly through the house. We froze instantly, our hands unmoving above the keys; we were alone in the house because Carlisle and Esme had taken a hunting trip to the Adirondacks and were supposed to return that very afternoon, and we knew the dangers of letting humans into the house.

Then we heard the thoughts of the visitor waiting on our front porch: _Good heavens, their servants are slow! Surely Dr. Cullen can afford to hire some decent servants. _

Almost immediately, Edward and I were on our feet to answer the door. Edward beat me there, straightened his waistcoat, smoothed the shirt sleeves he'd rolled up to his elbow, and opened the door. He tipped his next words with the slightest hint of a British accent: "How may I help you?"

The man on the front stoop drew himself up to his full height, which was nearer to mine than Edward's. He considered Edward with a haughty glance of scorn and arrogance and then said icily, assuming that Edward was one of our servants, "Ah, yes, I was wondering if Dr. Cullen was at home?"

Edward bit back a scowl at the man's assumption. But he managed to say politely through clenched teeth, "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but Carlisle is not here at the moment." Our visitor opened his mouth to say something, but Edward smoothly and politely interrupted, "But you are welcome to step inside and warm up for a few minutes, sir, and perhaps Carlisle will return home shortly."

"Yes, perhaps he might," the man said absently, stepping into the front hall. _Hmmm, what a disrespectful young man,_ our visitor thought haughtily, taking off his heavy coat and thrusting it in Edward's general direction, _calling his employer by his first name. If any of my servants tried that, they'd be tossed out on the street within seconds. _Then our visitor caught sight of me and said arrogantly, "First, show me to the parlor, and then I would like a cup of tea."

Biting back a scowl just as Edward had, I curtsied and told him politely, "Of course, sir. The parlor is just this way." I led our visitor to the parlor Edward and I had just left; Edward looked at the coat that had been thrust at him, tossed it carelessly on one of the chairs in the entrance hall, and caught my eye. _I'll get this arrogant ass his tea, _he said, moving silently down the hall to the kitchen.

When I looked back into the parlor, our visitor had settled into Carlisle's armchair nearest the fire. I so very nearly began to protest because it was silently understood in our family that no one but Carlisle sat in that chair; it was his chair, where he had spent long daylight hours reading and rereading his medical texts, where he sat in silent contemplation after long tough days at the hospital, where he was so often lost in his thoughts. I loved that chair almost as much as I loved Carlisle, probably because if all the furniture in the house could represent a member of the family, the chair would have represented Carlisle.

But instead, I said, "Edward will bringing your tea shortly, sir." Our visitor grunted and waved a hand to dismiss me, wondering why I was insisting on continuing to speak. There was a low growl, so low and quiet that the man couldn't have heard it, from the kitchen. I mentally shushed Edward and said to our guest, "I beg your pardon, sir, but I do not believe we've met before."

"I should certainly hope not!" the man burst out indignantly, half-rising out of Carlisle's chair. "I do not associate with my acquaintances' servants, much less my own!"

At that moment, there was a loud crash. Edward had just thrown the tea tray he was carrying to the floor, shattering the china teacup and teapot, staining his white dress shirt and gray trousers with splatters of tea. I knew the look glowing in his eyes, knew what emotion was clenching his jaw and twisting it into a steel trap that could snap the strongest steel, knew what emotion was making his nostrils flare so violently.

His voice was low and furious as he said, attempting some weak sense of manners, "I don't mean to be rude, _sir,_ but my sister and I are no servants nor have we ever been." Our visitor scoffed and mumbled that this sort of attitude would never be encouraged among his servants. Edward laughed, a single, harsh laugh that echoed bitterly. "I should guess that it isn't, sir, but as I have told you, my sister and I are not servants for Dr. and Mrs. Cullen. After all, would a woman as warm, caring, elegant, and proper as Mrs. Cullen force her own siblings to work as servants for her and her husband?"

Our guest visibly floundered for a response. Then, compulsively straightening his tie, he said with a small nod, "My apologies, young sir and lady. My name is Royce King; maybe you've heard of me, I do own most of the profitable businesses in Rochester."

Edward's jaw was still clenched, and his eyes were still burning furiously as he replied, "I've heard mention of you from our neighbors who've stopped by the house. They did speak very highly of you, Mr. King." Stepping over the mess of the thrown tea tray, Edward said, "My name is Edward Masen, and this is my twin sister Emily."

Royce King offered me a small bow and started to reply when suddenly Carlisle's voice called from the entrance hall, "Emily? Edward?" Carlisle and Esme had picked the opportune moment to return to the house, and they had quickly joined the game.

"We're in the parlor, Carlisle," I called lightly, not answering the question running through his mind. Within a matter of seconds, perhaps too quickly enough to make our guest suspicious, Carlisle and Esme both appeared in the parlor door; I said to them, "Carlisle, Esme, this is Royce King, and he was kind enough to call on us this afternoon."

Carlisle smoothly took over the conversation at that point, leading Mr. King over to the fireplace and letting him sit. Esme, bless her heart, murmured quietly as to not interrupt the men's conversation, "May I see the two of you in the kitchen?" As Edward and I filed meekly through the kitchen door, I saw King throw a small, smug glance of arrogance in my direction.

Once we were in the kitchen, Esme kept up the pretense and scolded with a teasing wink, "Now, which of you dropped the tea tray in the parlor?" I silently accused Edward with a pointing finger; he jokingly scowled at me. Her grin widening, Esme said too harshly considering how much she loved us, "Then get in there and clean it up. You should be ashamed of yourself, Edward. That was our mother's favorite teapot! And don't interrupt Carlisle and Mr. King." Edward scowled again and trudged back into the parlor.

A few minutes later, Edward traipsed back through the kitchen door, carrying the silver tea tray and the fragments of the broken teapot and teacup. He set the tray on the counter and muttered just loudly enough for Esme and even Carlisle in the parlor to hear, "That smug, pompous, arrogant jackass! Thinks just because he owns most of Rochester, he can walk all over everyone else! I suspect there's more money hidden in my piano and room than he has in all his bank accounts."

Esme and I laughed, a pleasant ring that echoed cheerfully through the house. Even Carlisle, who was trying to focus more on Mr. King than on us, chuckled once and had to immediately disguise it by coughing loudly.

After an hour, Mr. King took his leave of our house. He'd come for two reasons: to ask if Carlisle was up to making house calls to the King household, and to see the inside of the Cullen house for himself. Apparently he had heard whispers that the Cullen house was even more elegant and decadent than his, and he was determined to find out if the rumors were true. He left very disappointed. After all, his house had been the most lavish in all of Rochester until we moved to town.

We would live in Rochester for another year, and Edward and I never saw Royce King, the self-proclaimed king of Rochester himself, again. And neither one of us minded in the least.

Chapter Twenty

"Oh my God, what have I done to you?" Edward wailed loudly, breaking away and covering his face in shame. I tried to assure him that it wasn't his fault, but he shook his head and insisted, "No, no, I did this to you, Emily. I know you too well; absolutely nothing in this world would make you turn from Carlisle's way of life. This is my fault!"

I grabbed him by the wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. Dropping my voice to a soothing tone, I murmured, "Edward, this is not your fault. None of us knew things would end up this way, and it doesn't matter anyway. Neither one of us will be this way again in all the years we will walk through this world. I still have faith enough to believe that."

His dark eyes locked onto mine. This was how we read each other, in both the past and the present―a fleeting glance secretively shared; a flickering of the eyes so minute that those who knew us best were oblivious; the long, blatant stare that bared our very souls or whatever we had to resemble souls in this existence. So, as our eyes met and I felt the familiar brush of his conscience against my own, I let the few barriers remaining between us crumble into dust and lay bare all my memories of those painful years without him.

He tried to hide from me the waves of disgust and guilt that rippled down his spine with each new memory. But I knew him too well to ignore the way he shuddered violently to relive his own memories seen backwards from the end to the beginning through the additional layer of mine.

When he came to that very first kill, the one with that beautiful dead young woman with those familiar eyes of clear emerald, Edward cried out in pain. His mind fled from mine in a swift surrender, and he could no longer bring himself to look me in the eyes. Because instead of the scarlet eyes fading to black that he should have seen, he saw those emerald eyes of two girls―one slipping closer to eternal darkness with each beat of her slowing heart, the other already caught in the darkness of purgatory and begging for a release.

It was then that I understood. Every girl, every woman, every child who had been stalked, raped, beaten, slaughtered in the dark, was just another victim that he could protect and avenge because he'd failed to do the same for the girl who'd been the most important to him. The innocents he was protecting all had the same face and body in his mind: the pale, blood- and tear-streaked face and broken body of the sister he had promised and failed to protect, those vivid eyes slipping shut with every fading heartbeat, every shallow breath barely filling the nearly unmoving chest, the sickeningly tempting blood that taunted and teased him and of which he so nearly drank his fill.

And all of Edward's victims, the men who were barely more human than what he considered himself, had the face of the man responsible for plunging the only girl Edward had ever loved into eternal darkness.

If impossibilities could have become possibilities, so many would have happened in that very moment. My heart would have broken into a thousand pieces to see Edward racked with such guilt over something that had happened so very long ago. Tears would have been streaking my cheeks to know the overwhelming love for his only sister that Edward held in that frozen, silent heart; even after shattering like glass, my heart would mend itself with this staggering love for my brother that renewed itself in my chest.

"I condemned you to this hell, Emily," Edward whispered brokenly in response to my thoughts. "If I'd truly loved you as I claimed to, I would have stayed there with you, held your hand as you finally slipped from this world, envied you for the light you would finally know in the darkness. But instead I reached out to you in my own selfishness and demanded of Carlisle to bring you to this life where I would have you always. In those last moments, I should have known that I would be damning the purest, most beautiful soul I had ever known to an eternity in hell. I should have reached out only to offer some comfort to the sister I loved in her final moments, to assure her tortured, dying soul that her beloved brother had loved her for every second of every day."

He sobbed once and turned away from me. "But instead, I chained her in a timeless purgatory where every day is another walk through the very blackest fires of hell. And why? Because I loved her."

I murmured in reply, blinking back the venom that stung at my eyes, "This existence is no purgatory, Edward." He laughed weakly, bitterly, sarcastically. Touching his arm gently, I told him, "And I will gladly walk through every circle of Hell every single day as my punishment for this existence because that is a burden I will graciously carry on my shoulders if it means you and I will always be together." He shook his head in protest. I asked, a sob catching in my throat, "Edward, do you think I could hate you for saving me from the darkness that was closing over me? Do you think I could hate the one person in this world who still loved me even when no one else did? Do you think I could ever regret that you were the one who found me that night when I was drowning in the black waters of my misery and pain, brought me back to the surface, and breathed life into me again? Do you think I could wish that I had died there on that floor, that my short, pain-filled life could be ended in such a violent and brutal manner? Do you think I could lament that in my last minutes, the person I loved most brought me to a life that, even in its blackest moments, was a thousand times better than the life I had already known for eighteen years?"

Edward's eyes as they moved back to my face were filled with an immeasurable sadness. It would take many years for him to believe every word I spoke that cold, Christmas night, and it would take many more for him to stop blaming himself for damning me to an existence he had considered hell on earth for our kind. But as he gently brushed his fingers across my cheek and whispered through the dark, "Of course not," it was a start.

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**A/N: **Don't worry, I didn't change a thing in the story itself. I just forgot to add that this story ends here. But I have the first chapter of my next story _A Family Affair, Part Two_ posted already. So please feel free to check it out!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thankfully, I'm done with school for the summer, so maybe I'll make plenty of progress on my series. Sorry for the wait!

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**Chapter Three**

Our life settled significantly once spring broke across Rochester. By then, the mysterious Cullens, who were so rarely seen outside their own home, were no longer popular gossip. Any stories about us had been told so many times that everyone could recite them word for word, and no one particularly cared to wonder why we were so strange. (The majority of our neighbors blamed our eccentricity on the fact that we'd first lived in our ancestral London, then Philadelphia, and then New York City before finally settling in Rochester.)

Life in Rochester was peaceful for us. Our days were filled with simplistic pleasures we'd long grown to love: reading books we'd already memorized, learning languages we would probably never use, writing essays and poems that we would submit or publish under false names, writing songs that had never been written before, painting surprisingly accurate replicas of famous artwork. The long nights we often spent outside lounging in the thick forest that backed up to our backyard or swimming in Lake Ontario. The weekends meant either quick hunting trips in the area or extended trips that would last several days and would take us as far away as Nova Scotia, Canada.

Even though time passed so quickly for us and meant so little to us, it was a special gift for the humans of Rochester. From our house on the hill, we watched as families grew, merged, and broke apart. The children who had once clung to their mothers' skirts grew up and scampered down the streets on their way to school.

One cold and cloudy afternoon in early December, Esme and I walked down to the hopsital to visit Carlisle in the middle of one of the double shifts he frequently took. We had barely walked in the main door when the middle-aged woman at the front desk asked warmly, "How may I help you today, my dears?"

Smiling sweetly, Esme answered, "My younger sister and I are here to see Dr. Carlisle Cullen. Do you happen to know where he is?"

_Such beautiful young women, _the nurse thought kindly. "I do, actually," she replied. "At the moment, Dr. Cullen and some of the other doctors are having coffee in the doctors' lounge. It's just at the very end of this main hall on the right-hand side. I'm sure it'd be all right if you just went right inside." She paused and queried, letting her curiosity get the better of her, "If you don't mind my asking, how do you two know Dr. Cullen?"

Esme smiled again, temporarily dazzling the woman. "He's my husband," she answered brightly, her voice wrapping around the words in a soft, contented purr. "Thank you, dear. I hope you have a nice day."

"You too," the woman called after us. I smiled at the thoughts that followed us down the hall: _You don't know how lucky you are, my dear, to have a husband like Dr. Cullen. There aren't many men like him in this world._

The door to the doctors' lounge was standing open, and through it, we could hear the doctors talking quietly about several different patients. Esme and I paused in the hall to wait for a lull in the conversation; I casually scanned the thoughts of everyone within the room and saw in one doctor's mind that Carlisle was sitting in the corner, slightly separated from the rest of them but not enough for them to notice. He looked like a young, bored king listening to his council of advisors during an argument. His thoughts were faraway from the overheated room, until he finally caught our scents drifting into the room from the hall.

Fleeting images told me how to get to Carlisle's office from where Esme and I stood, and Carlisle silently promised, _I'll be in there in a few moments. _I laughed so softly that only he and Esme could hear, just so he would know that we understood. Then I turned to Esme and whispered quietly, my lips barely moving, "Come, Esme, we'll wait in Carlisle's office." I led her down the twisting halls, following the instructions Carlisle had given me, and opened without a pause the polished oak door with the brass nameplate that read _Dr. Carlisle Cullen_.

Carlisle's comfortable office looked as if he'd been there all his life. His beautiful walnut desk gleamed dimly in the low light, the perfectly stacked piles of files and papers arranged neatly along the edges. The bookshelves along one wall were stuffed with his numerous medical books, save for his worn copy of _Gray's Anatomy_, which lay open on the table beneath the window (and which, unknown to him, would soon be replaced by the updated and duplicate copy I had drawn and would give to him for Christmas). Next to his _Gray's Anatomy _were three silver-framed portraits that were actually incredibly-lifelike drawings of the family—one showed all four of us in a surprisingly proper family portrait with Carlisle, Edward, and me all gathered around Esme; another was just of Edward and me, posing for what we would tell people was the portrait we would send to our families back in London; the last was simply of Esme, looking more beautiful than any film ingénue ever could.

We were only there for a few minutes before Carlisle's steps echoed softly down the corridor. When he appeared in the doorway and as Esme greeted him with a sweet peck on the cheek, he said softly, "I'm sorry it took me so long to get away. Once Dr. Cable and Dr. Youngman start ranting, it takes them a while to stop. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from two beautiful young women?"

Esme's smile flickered at the corners. Carlisle noticed immediately, and the frown line between his eyebrows slashed quickly through his marble features. Esme took from her pocket a heavy parchment envelope and handed it to him. One of his eyebrows drew upward in a perfect arch as he took the envelope from her. Before he could ask, I explained, "One of the servants from the King household delivered earlier this afternoon."

Carlisle glanced quickly between Esme and me, opened the envelope, and slid out the contents. His dark honey-colored eyes moved swiftly across the paper, and once he'd finished, he sighed softly in irritation. "I can't believe this," he said, running a hand through his blonde hair.

It was an invitation to Royce King's annual Christmas gala, which consisted of an entire week of nightly parties. Edward and I had already heard many of our neighbors wondering if and hoping that they would get an invitation to what was supposedly the biggest social event of the season, but we had hoped that our family wouldn't be invited. However, Royce King had apparently decided the handsome doctor who made housecalls and who had the more impressive house deserved to brush elbows with the self-proclaimed royalty of Rochester.

Lightly biting her lower lip, Esme queried, "Do you think we should go, Carlisle?"

He sighed again, then looked up at me. When he spoke, it was only aloud for Esme's benefit: "Well, what do you think, Emily?"

I shrugged. "It seems that everyone who gets an invitation goes, and when they don't, others get suspicious and start prying as to why. And I'm sure that some of our neighbors must have seen the servant who delivered the invitation, so I would guess that all the neighborhood knows by now that the Cullens have been invited. Our neighbors already think we're strange enough, and we shouldn't give them more reasons to snoop. If we want to avoid suspicion, we'll have to go."

A soft sound of annoyance swept through the room. None of us wanted to go, but we all knew that we would have to in order to protect ourselves. Carlisle said, sliding the invitation back into its envelope, "Then it's settled. We'll go to three parties, and then we'll miss the rest by telling them that we're leaving to spend Christmas with our families in London."

Before we went home that afternoon, Esme and I made a quick trip to New York City. There we bought the silk, velvet, and taffeta needed for the ball gowns we would wear; I had also heard that the most fashionable women in Rochester never showed up in the same dress to two different parties, so Esme and I each needed three new dresses. Edward grumbled when we kicked him out of the main parlor, which would be quickly be strewn with our patterns and gowns, but even he agreed that these parties were a necessary evil.

But we still didn't have to like it.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Wow. I definitely put this story on hold for much longer than I had originally planned. I blame my hectic semester and my severe case of writer's block. And a reminder, since it's been so long since I've posted anything: If something sounds familiar, it's probably because it belongs to Stephenie Meyer, not me.

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**A Family Affair, Part Two**

**Chapter Four**

The day of the first party in Royce King's week-long gala dawned icy and cold. The general attitude in the Cullen house that morning was equally icy and cold, perhaps more so. Edward and I especially were pouting like young children; neither of us, Edward in particular, had quite forgiven Royce King for his asinine assumption that we were Carlisle and Esme's servants. Carlisle and Esme tried to cheer us up throughout the day, promising that these parties would be over before we knew it and that our Christmas celebration would make up for everything.

But by the time that Edward had put on his classic ebony tuxedo and I'd donned my evening gown, we weren't quite as sullen as pouting children. We secretly enjoyed dressing in our finest clothes, and we always had. It had been this way ever since we were children when we would eagerly await every Sunday morning, the one day of the week that Mother would let us wear our best outfits. Perhaps our eagerness was the first sign of our egotism, for we often looked forward to Sundays only because we knew that people would always compliment our parents for having such beautiful children. And now, even though we were grown adults trapped in perfect and beautiful countenances of youth, we were still just as egotistical as we had been all those years ago.

When the mysterious Cullen family appeared on Royce King's wide front porch, a murmur of excitement washed through the house. Everyone wanted to see the Cullens again, especially at so prestigious an event such as Royce King's Christmas gala. Edward and I shared a sly grin as Carlisle impulsively straightened his tuxedo jacket and overcoat before knocking loudly on the front door; he was just as conscious of his appearance as Edward and I were, and Esme, who had already checked her reflection in the frosted glass panes of the front door, was as well. With that crooked grin lighting up his face, Edward reached over to me and gently patted a stray curl back into place. _Not that you really needed it, _he thought wryly, _but our fellow party goers expect that you'll want to look perfect._

I would have replied if the front door hadn't opened at that moment and if Carlisle hadn't led us into the entrance hall. There were two people waiting directly inside for us: a tired, gray-haired man and a white-haired woman. The man smiled to see Carlisle and said warmly, "Ah, Dr. Cullen, everyone was wondering when you and your family would arrive." He nodded politely to the rest of the family and continued, speaking only to Carlisle, "Mr. King has asked that you find him the moment you arrive."

Carlisle sighed. "Thank you, Gregor," he replied. "May I ask where Mr. King is at the moment?"

Gregor answered obediently, "He is in his study for now, Dr. Cullen, eagerly awaiting you, I'm sure. May I take your overcoat, sir?"

Elegantly shrugging out of his heavy black coat, Carlisle handed it to the manservant and thanked him. Then, turning to the rest of us, he pecked Esme on the cheek and asked, "Why don't you three mingle while I go speak to Mr. King for a few minutes? I'll come find you when I'm done." _Which may be later rather than sooner,_ he added dryly for Edward's and my benefit. We would have laughed, but instead we smiled at him. Then he smoothly strode away through the house.

Once Carlisle had gone, Gregor took Edward's ebony coat as well, and the smiling woman took the heavy brocade and velvet cloaks that Esme and I offered her. As the two of them moved to put away our coats and cloaks, I saw the woman fondly brush her hand across the white ermine collar of my cloak. _What I wouldn't give to wear such a garment,_ she thought sadly.

There was a lovesick sigh somewhere above us. Edward, Esme, and I looked up to see a young teenage girl on the landing at the top of the wide staircase. In the instant she realized we'd seen her, she yelped and hurried out of sight. "Oh, Edward, winning hearts already, I see," Esme teased with a slight chuckle.

Edward started to reply, but a loud voice cut sharply across the Christmas music that drifted from the rear of the house—"You must be Mrs. Cullen!" A woman dressed in a festive dark red gown was pressing her way through the crowd towards us. She stopped nearest Esme and said, "I've heard so much about you, yet how unfortunate we could not meet until now. I am Diana King."

"Esme Cullen," Esme said politely with a warm, forced smile. When she noticed Mrs. King's eyes wondering towards Edward and me, she added, "These are Carlisle's and my charges, my twin siblings, Edward and Emily Masen." I curtsied politely, and Edward dipped his head.

It was no surprise that a small crowd of women and teenage girls had gathered behind Mrs. King. It was also no surprise that most of them smiled longingly at Edward or that most of the smiles they offered me were twisted sneers of envy. But with a surreptitious glance in my direction, Edward flashed them a dazzling smile that made all of them stop breathing for a moment. _Oh, I'll surely faint if he does that again,_ one timid girl worried, fanning herself furiously with the silk fan in her hand.

Edward thought with a silent laugh, _This could prove to be a very entertaining evening indeed. _Then he smoothly interrupted Mrs. King by touching Esme's elbow and telling her, "Esme, Emily and I are going to go mingle for a while."

Panic leapt into Esme's eyes for a split second, but then she said evenly, "Oh, of course." She pecked me on the cheek and whispered in my ear so softly none of our human companions could hear her, "If she hasn't let me go in fifteen minutes, please save me."

I only laughed delightedly. At my side, Edward held out his hand for me and queried, "Shall we, sister?" Curtsying, I laughed again and told him, "Yes, I believe we shall, brother." Once I'd taken his hand, he twisted his arm so mine was intertwined around his and whisked me around the small crowd behind Mrs. King.

When Carlisle finally found us again an hour and a half later, Edward, Esme and I were in one corner of the Kings' largest parlor. Esme and I were lounging in two damask-upholstered armchairs with Edward standing near us, one hand resting on the back of my chair; several of the other party goers in the room were continually coming up to us to introduce themselves to Esme. I noted with a hint of delight that a few young men were standing a few feet away, trying to work up the courage to ask me if I'd like to dance of if I'd like anything to eat or drink, only to watch their courage shatter the instant they saw Edward standing so close. Edward smirked every time we watched it happen; he was doing his job of the protective older brother properly then.

The crowd seemed to part for Carlisle as he strode up to us. Esme's face lit up as he caught her hand with a grace befitting of his two hundred and seventy years and kissed it gently, saying with a small, teasing smile, "Why, Mrs. Cullen, you look absolutely exquisite. If it's not too bold to say, you might be the most beautiful woman here." Then he added quickly, for my sake, "Except for perhaps Miss Masen."

Esme's laugh echoed like music through the room. Several women nearby melted with jealousy, and I heard a furious thought of one of the young women standing near the fireplace—_How could he possibly say that she's the most beautiful woman in the room? He just hasn't seen me yet._ I immediately looked in her direction and knew instantly which one she was.

She certainly was beautiful. For a human, anyway. The girls surrounding her paled in comparison, seeming very small and plain next to her unusually tall, statuesque figure; they also seemed very dark against her fair skin and masses of blonde hair. And although the cut of her scarlet dress was modest and nothing extravagant, she was clearly of some money and carried herself with the elegance of a haughty queen.

I reached up and tugged lightly on Carlisle's sleeve. As he turned his golden eyes to mine, I queried, "Carlisle, the tall blonde standing near the fireplace, who is she?"

Carlisle glanced in the proper direction so quickly that no one would have thought his eyes had ever left Esme's face. Then he answered, "That must be Rosalie Hale. Her father Randall works at the bank for Mr. King." He pretended to fiddle with his onyx cuff link for a moment, then asked, "Why the sudden interest, Emily?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, I replied, "She's just managed to convince herself that the only reason you could say Esme was the most beautiful woman in the room was because you hadn't seen her yet." Before the thought could completely run through her thoughts, I patted Esme's hand comfortingly and assured, "You mustn't worry, Esme, she could never be as beautiful as you are." I dropped my voice to the softest whisper and added, "Besides, she's only human."

And as soon as I said it, I glanced in her direction, only to find her glaring back at me.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Two chapters on the same night? I'm on a roll.

* * *

**A Family Affair, Part Two**

**Chapter Five**

When we returned to Rochester in early January from our trip abroad, it was to a flurry of excitement. Not only had the Cullens returned from London, but news had also broke that the heir to the King name, Royce King II himself, and one of the most beautiful girls in town, Rosalie Hale, had officially announced their engagement. And the city was bustling with wedding plans, even though everyone agreed a spring wedding was best.

We received the wedding invitation on a snowy afternoon in late January when all the city lay shrouded in a blanket of snow and silence. The cream white envelope with ostentatious calligraphy somehow seemed so innocent yet so dangerous in Carlisle's white hands as he stood in front of the fireplace, lost deep in thought. He suddenly seemed a young, tortured king, struggling to make the decision that would best serve his people.

It was too dangerous for us. We couldn't risk attending the festivities, which would surely take place under the sunny skies of early April, for fear of exposing our truest selves. Nor could we risk not attending, should we raise too many questions from our neighbors. Nor could we afford to aggravate Royce King, the only man in town with enough determination and resources to potentially ruin us.

So we would have to leave this place. Our time here was over, just as it had been in Chicago, New York, Ashland, and Collinsport. This was the life we were all destined to live: roaming from town to town, city to city, putting down roots that would be ripped up again in the blink of an eye. But we had each other, we were a family, we were not alone in this. And that somehow made everything better.

A week after we received the wedding invitation, Carlisle decided that the time had come to inform Royce King that we would soon be leaving town. So, one gray afternoon when the streets were quiet under a cloak of snow, he slipped into his long, black overcoat and walked to the bank downtown where Mr. King kept his main office. But he returned two hours later, slightly infuriated that he had waited outside Mr. King's office for an hour and a half, only to be told that Mr. King was unavailable to see him.

But the doorbell rang later that evening, just as many of our neighbors were coming home from work. Carlisle's brow furrowed in the silent question, and Edward murmured softly, "It seems to be Royce King, Jr. He wants to apologize that his father was unable to see you."

Sighing heavily, Carlisle set his book aside and rose from his chair. He moved gracefully to answer the door, and in a moment, we could hear the door opening to a small flurry of snow and Carlisle saying brightly, "Ah, Master Royce! Please come inside!" Then two sets of footsteps, one much clumsier and heavier than the other, echoed down the hallway towards us, and then Carlisle led Royce King, Jr., into the parlor and said, "Master Royce, I assume you have not met my wife Esme and her brother and sister Edward and Emily?"

I suppressed a shudder as Royce King's eyes fell on me. His engagement had certainly done nothing to dissuade his imagination. I didn't have to look over to Edward to know that he was fighting to keep his face smooth; a low, nearly soundless growl was already rumbling deep in his chest. So I offered Royce a very forced smile and turned to Edward. "Come, Edward," I told him, touching his arm, "we'll get our honored guest something warm to drink."

Edward glared at me. _I don't even want Royce King out of my sight._ But he clung close behind me like a shadow as I rose from my chair near the piano and crossed the parlor into the kitchen. I rolled my eyes. He was so protective of a girl who hardly needed protecting anymore. _And yet I do it anyway,_ he reminded me darkly.

"So, Royce," Carlisle asked politely once the kitchen door had swung close behind us, "to what do I owe the honor of your coming here?"

Clearing his throat arrogantly, Royce replied, "My father wishes to send his apologies that he could not see you this afternoon. He was deeply upset that his secretary allowed you to wait for an hour and a half. Had he known you were waiting to speak with him, he would have promptly demanded to see you."

He glanced over his shoulder, startled, as Edward shoved roughly through the kitchen door in front of me. A greasy grin lit up Royce's face as I carried the silver tea tray over to where Carlisle leaned against the mantle and set it down next to him. Carlisle thanked me quietly. _Am I correct in assuming I don't even want to know what he's thinking?_ I glared at him, and Edward exhaled sharply through his nose. _I will take your responses as a no_, Carlisle thought with a silent chuckle before turning back to Royce. "You may tell your father that he is forgiven. I just wanted to give him the news before he heard it from anyone else."

Royce demanded, "What news might that be?" He said it with such authority that one could never question exactly how he treated his servants. Any other man might cowered at Royce's tone, but Carlisle didn't even flinch.

Instead Carlisle calmly replied, "Well, Master Royce, I am afraid that my family and I will be leaving Rochester the first week of April."

"What? Why?" Royce half-yelled, rising angrily to his feet. Edward's lips curled back from his glistening teeth, and he took a single step towards Royce before I grabbed his arm.

Carlisle's dark gold eyes swept around the room—pausing on Esme at her desk in the corner, then on Edward struggling slightly against me a few feet behind Royce's back—before landing back on the furious young man. Carlisle explained evenly, "Edward and Emily have both been accepted to the University of Chicago for the next semester, and neither Esme nor I like the thought of sending them to Chicago alone. So we are moving with them as well."

Royce asked angrily, "But why April? Why not wait until the summer?"

"I'm afraid that we are all traveling to London again this summer, Master Royce," Carlisle stated simply. His impatience was beginning to show at the corners of his mouth, and the worry line between his eyebrows was a faint slash across his marble forehead. "My elder brother is hosting a gala for his fellow Trinity College classmate Prime Minister Baldwin, and then my entire family is going on a tour of Europe until the end of August. We won't be able to return to the States until the week that Edward and Emily start their classes."

For a moment, it seemed Royce King, Jr., would burst out yelling again. But then he reminded himself that he was here at his father's request. So he straightened his suit jacket and coat, then said curtly, "All right then, Dr. Cullen. I will pass the news along to my father. I wish you and your family all the best in Chicago." Glaring angrily over his shoulder at Edward and me, he stormed quickly out of the parlor and out the front door.

We waited in silence until the rumblings of his car engine faded into the distance. Then Carlisle said quietly, "It seems like the Cullen family will no longer be in Royce King's good graces."

Edward retorted snidely, "As if it really mattered to us anyway." He gently brushed my hand from his arm and returned to his piano. "Wonderful choice on the lie for why we're leaving, Carlisle," he added as he sat down onto the bench.

"Why was it a wonderful choice, Edward?" Esme asked, finally speaking for the first time since Royce King had walked into our home.

I smiled and answered instead, "When the women in Ashville were pestering him to enroll his young charges in the public high school, he told them that Edward and I were due to attend the University of Chicago that fall and had completed enough schooling with all the tutors we'd had in New York and Chicago."

Then I frowned. All those years ago, in my human life with my human family, I'd once dreamed of attending the University of Chicago. It was the only school in the city that had accepted female students at the time, and all my teachers in school had insisted that I was certainly smart enough to be accepted.

Edward patted my shoulder comfortingly. _It's all right, Emily,_ he assured me, _you learned more in that first year with Carlisle than you would have learned in four at the University of Chicago._ I thanked him. He always knew how to make me feel better.

Half an hour later, the phone in the foyer rang loudly. We all looked immediately at Carlisle. We knew exactly who it was. Sighing, Carlisle rose from his chair and went to answer it.

He spent the rest of the night leaning tiredly against the wall, listening to Royce King Senior's attempts at goading him to stay in Rochester. Eventually, I got up from my chair in the parlor and took him a very large stack of books. _Thank you, Emily,_ he thought with a tired smile, setting the receiver on top of the phone and picking up _The Divine Comedy_ off the top of the stack. He opened it to the front page, placed the receiver to his ear again, and began to read Dante's first canticle _Inferno_, translating Longfellow's American translation into the original Italian and then into Latin. "I'm very sorry, Mr. King," he said, only a small part of his mind remaining on the phone conversation, "but nothing can persuade Esme to stay in Rochester while Edward and Emily go off to Chicago."

The three of us had retired to our separate rooms by the time Carlisle finally hung up the phone. I was copying out a new version of _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ in Latin, complete with illustrations, when Carlisle's nearly-silent footsteps ghosted past my door. His voice trailed like mist behind him—"Royce King, Sr., is not pleased with our decision, but he's accepted it. For now anyway." I heard Edward chuckle softly from his room across the hall; a few seconds later, the door to Carlisle and Esme's suite opened then shut quietly.

I rolled my eyes. In the end, did it really matter to us whether or not Royce King, Sr., approved of our every move?


	6. Chapter 6

**A Family Affair, Part Two**

**Chapter Six**

The rumor of our plans to leave Rochester did very little to upset our neighbors. We had been no more than the neighborhood oddity. They didn't particularly like us, especially when we had shown up so unexpectedly and when they suspected we were far wealthier than they could ever be. And we had certainly worn out our welcome after the Kings' Christmas galas and after we'd refused Royce King Junior's wedding invitation.

So we went on with our lives.

As the date of the wedding drew nearer, the weather didn't seem to cooperate. April, when everyone thought spring would have finally arrived in Rochester, dawned wintry cold; there were those throughout town who insisted that it was the coldest April in the last twenty years. I even heard a rumor that the soon-to-be bride was fretting about the possibility of having to move the ceremony indoors.

The Saturday before the wedding, before we had decided to leave Rochester behind, I left our house on the hill and walked down to the hospital not long after midnight. Edward and Esme had left that morning for a weekend trip to the Catskills, so the huge house was empty and silent, and I was restless. So I slipped into one of Carlisle's heavy black coats and set out through the dark, frosty streets to visit my father.

He was with a patient when I arrived in the doorway of the emergency room. One of the nurses, who did not seem to recognize me, began to ask what my emergency was. But Carlisle had already caught a glimpse of me and called to the nurse, his voice ringing clear and calm from across the long room, "It's all right, Denise, Emily is just here to see me." I offered the nurse a small smile that didn't expose any of my teeth, then strode off down the aisle.

Carlisle finished stitching up the nervous young man in front of him just as I drew within several feet of them. Without looking up at me, Carlisle commented to his patient, "All right, Lieutenant Wailes, if you'll just take this form to Denise at the front desk, she'll fill out the appropriate forms for your release. You'll be fit for duty by tomorrow, but I suggest that you take today off." He signed the form on his clipboard with an elegant flourish and handed the piece of paper to the young man, who thanked him quietly and hurried past me, glancing at me nervously.

Once the young man had scurried out of earshot, Carlisle remarked, "I was sure I'd see you sometime tonight, Emily. Was the house just too quiet for you?"

I smiled. "You know me too well, Carlisle," I told him. He chuckled quietly, turning to wipe down his surgical instruments with pure alcohol before stowing them away in his doctor's bag. I sighed to watch him move with such skill and patience, and said, "You've certainly found your calling, Carlisle."

Another smile turned up the corners of his lips. "Thank you, Emily," Carlisle replied. He paused thoughtfully. "Even though there are others of our kind who may disagree, I like to tell myself that I've done the best I could with what I had to work with. And I suppose that may include helping to protect the very humans I'm supposed to kill."

He was so philosophical, more so than anyone I had ever met. But that was the only Carlisle I had ever known. I touched his arm gently and said nothing. He didn't need me to say anything; he knew my loyalty on the subject. Carlisle covered my hand with his and murmured, "Thank you, my dear."

We remained that way for a few minutes until Carlisle suddenly checked his watch. Sighing, he asked me, "Are you ready to go home?"

"Only if you are, Carlisle," I answered.

Carlisle let go of my hand and picked up his doctor's bag. "Let me get my coat," he instructed, leading me out the back door of the emergency room and down a narrow hallway to his office. I smiled.

Centered on the wall behind his desk was the exact imitation of Leonardo da Vinci's _Vitruvian Man_, complete down to da Vinci's mirror writing at the bottom, that I had drawn for him for Christmas one year. Surrounding this were several images of several of Leonardo's anatomical drawings, also presents I had given him throughout the years.

He truly thought too much of me. But what father wasn't that way about his only daughter?

A few minutes later, Carlisle said goodbye to his colleagues. Then, Carlisle offering me his arm, we stepped out of the rear entrance of the hospital into the chilly April night. We moved arm-in-arm through the heavy curtain of darkness like ghosts, whispering quietly to each other, and we were only two blocks from the hospital when we rounded a corner, and our lives would change.

The wind shifted around us, rustling our coats around our legs, enveloping us in a scent that made our muscles clench. Carlisle's nostrils flared to catch more of the scent. We both knew the smell, were all too familiar with it. And we had to find it.

I moved quickly behind Carlisle, trusting him more than I trusted myself. He moved stealthily through the night, the scent drawing him closer with every step. And then suddenly I caught the quiet thoughts that drew me forward as surely as the scent that beckoned to Carlisle.

We rounded one final corner, and our hunt was over as suddenly as it had begun. She lay in the cold street, her blood melting the frost around her, her scattered hairpins and buttons twinkling like fallen stars in the low light from the streetlight on the corner. She was a broken angel, fallen back to Earth. Carlisle was immediately at her side, checking her pulse, assessing her injuries. But I did not need to look any closer to know that this broken girl—whoever she was—and I already had something in common.

I watched Carlisle vainly attempt to keep her weakening heart pumping. I knew that if Carlisle had been the one to find me, broken and beaten, on that cold night so long ago, he would have done just as he was doing now—fighting to pump some life into a dying body, even when that body was refusing any life it was being offered.

_No, no, I won't do this to another,_ he thought desperately, still trying to force the girl's heart to beat on its own. But we both knew there was only one thing he could now do to save her. I gently touched his shoulder and murmured in his ear, "Carlisle, you have to. There's nothing left for you to do."

The pain that flickered through Carlisle's eyes was that of an innocent burning at the stake. He nodded and turned back to the dying girl, shrugging quickly out of his long black coat. His movements were smooth and rapid as he swept the girl off the cold ground and into his equally cold arms. I checked quickly for our protection that no one was looking curiously down into the street before nodding to him and following him back to our house on the hill.

When we reached the empty house, we cleared the front gate in one elegant, even bound and hurried up the yard to the front door. In the same instant that our nearest neighbor peeked out her bedroom window, I had swiftly shut the huge front door behind Carlisle.

Carlisle gently lay the girl on the sofa as I added wood to the now dying fire in the fireplace. Without turning away from the girl, he ordered silently, _Emily, go._ I understood immediately—he didn't want an audience, and he didn't want to take the risk that I would attack the instant the blood started to flow. So I obeyed without protesting and hurried through the kitchen, out of the house, and across the wide back yard to the thick forest that had granted us refuge so many times before.

I had barely paused beyond the forest's border when a piercing scream shattered the darkness.

I lingered at the edge of the treeline, just far enough that the smell of the girl's blood wouldn't reach me on the wind but near enough that I could still hear Carlisle in the house. Had any of the neighbors looked out their rear windows, they would have seen a motionless, marble white figure leaning against a black tree, staring intently up at the Cullen house. But none of them did, and even if they had, they wouldn't have thought anything of it, if they could see that far at all.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was only a few minutes, Carlisle's familiar figure appeared on the back porch. His eyes, now eerily glowing crimson in the moonlight, found mine through the dark, and he thought wearily, _You can come back inside now, Emily._

Almost as soon as the thought fell silent in his head, I was standing next to him on the porch. He looked away in shame to hide the color of his eyes, but I just kissed him gently on the cheek. "How is she?" I asked him quietly, trying my hardest to block out the girl's pain-filled thoughts.

He sighed heavily and fidgeted uncharacteristically. _She's definitely turning; she's already begging for someone to kill her._ I touched his shoulder comfortingly. The way we were born into this existence was not an easy one. He, of all people, perhaps knew that best. Although he had never told me, I suspected that Carlisle had also begged for death while he'd burned, especially considering his turning hadn't been the most strategic.

Ignoring the guilt and shame burning through Carlisle's thoughts, I took his hand and murmured with a small smile, "Carlisle, will you take me to meet my new sister?"

The small ghost of a smile lit up Carlisle's absurdly handsome face. The worry line between his brow softened a little, and his crimson eyes seemed a tad brighter. _Of course, _he thought warmly. He'd worried that I wouldn't approve of a new addition, especially another girl around my own age, to the family.

Carlisle led me back inside the house to the parlor. While I had waited outside, he had already cleaned up; the room was filled with the thick, overwhelming smells of bleach and hydrogen peroxide. The girl was curled up on the sofa near the fire, her thoughts begging for death and release from the fire that consumed her. Letting my hand slip from Carlisle's, I moved around the sofa to finally look into the face of the girl who would become my sister.

And a low hiss involuntarily curled my lips back from my teeth.

I recognized her instantly. The blonde hair. The violet eyes. The unmistakable face that had graced the society pages since the beginning of January. I thought of the first time I had seen her: her blonde curls piled high on her head, her violet eyes narrowed in jealousy and contempt, her scarlet dress seeming too ostentatious for the party.

It was the girl who had hated us only because we were more beautiful than she thought she could ever be.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Sorry about the ridiculously long hiatus. I blame a busy school semester and a nearly-crippling case of writer's block. But the ideas have started to flow, and summer gives me the freedom to write whenever I want. Also, if something sounds vaguely familiar from outside my story, then I didn't write it. It's as simple as that.

* * *

**A Family Affair, Part Two**

**Chapter Seven**

I tried to keep my displeasure from Carlisle, who already worried too much. He worried about Rosalie, about how Esme and Edward would react, about how I was really reacting on the inside where he couldn't see.

But I could hardly tell him how I really felt. I could never expect him to understand the feelings I was feeling, especially when I didn't quite understand them myself. These emotions were similar to ones I'd felt before, particularly jealousy, but this time, there was a different taste to the all too familiar jealousy.

This flavor of jealousy I had not known for a very long time. It had been many years since I had not known with absolutely certainty that I was the most beautiful girl in the room. But I had seen Rosalie in her human form, and her mortal beauty would only be intensified with immortality. To the point where she would suddenly outshine me. The egotistical part of me that was much larger than I cared to admit didn't particularly like the idea.

Looks weren't the only thing. I also worried that Rosalie might suddenly become the favorite in the family, the golden child who could do absolutely no wrong. Although none of them would have dared to admit it, I was the favorite of the family. Edward had always doted on me the way an elder brother should dote on his younger sister, but Carlisle and Esme had always claimed they could never have favorites between Edward and me. But Edward and I knew. And although it should have upset him, Edward could hardly blame them for favoring me, especially since he still considered himself a monster for all those years he spent apart from the family.

I didn't like the possibility of a new threat.

How strange that a new addition to our family could make me feel this way. I hated it.

So I stood motionless at the parlor window, trying to convince myself that Rosalie could never become the favorite in the family. And I wasn't succeeding.

Behind me, Carlisle commented quietly, guessing I was too focused on my own thoughts to notice his, "Emily, we should probably tell Esme and Edward to come home."

Nodding, I murmured, "Of course, I'll tell Edward." I let my eyes slide shut, and I buried myself deep in my own mind, near the dark corner where Edward's thoughts swirled lazily. For a moment, I watched him through his thoughts, let them run through my own mind. I was suddenly there in his smooth, quick stride, watching the trees and colors blur by as he ran, felt the familiar thirst clenching his throat shut.

He acknowledged my presence for only a moment before lunging for the neck of a large mule deer. Just as the blood began to flow, I quickly and politely retreated from his thoughts. He knew to return to my thoughts when he was finished.

Several quiet minutes passed before Edward's mind brushed with mine and queried, _yes, Emily?_

_You and Esme should return home as quickly as possible, Edward, _I replied. _We've a new addition to the family._ I quickly replayed a few of my memories of the night for him, purposely leaving out the memory of my recognizing her.

Edward's thoughts were silent as they watched mine. Then I felt his thoughts nod, and he promised, _Esme and I will head home immediately. _His mind withdrew from mine, leaving only the small window that we always maintained between us.

I sighed and turned back to Carlisle with a sigh. "Edward and Esme are on their way home now, Carlisle," I told him tiredly. He nodded, and then his brow furrowed in a silent, worried question: _did you tell him it was Rosalie? _I offered him a weak smile and replied, "No, I thought we would burn that bridge when we came to it."

My smile—which was already very, very weak to begin with—slipped and then shattered into dust. I turned away to the window again before Carlisle could see. But after several quiet, awkward minutes, I whispered, "I'll be out on the front porch."

Before he could reply, before he could even formulate a response in his thoughts, I ran like the coward I was in that moment. Carlisle watched helplessly as I dashed from the room, as the heavy front door shut quietly behind me. But he did not attempt to follow me.

The wintry night comforted me very little. I sank wearily onto the steps of the front porch with a sigh. Rubbing the smooth skin of my eyelids in an age-old gesture of tiredness, I looked up at the late-night sky above me. A few crystal stars twinkled in the ebony velvet sky, and the crescent moon was a thin sickle curve so very near to disappearing into the dark. I took a deep, unnecessary breath, then exhaled shakily—my breath fanned out in an icy fog in front of me and billowed away through the night. Watching the stars slowly move across their velvet backdrop, I started taking out all my hairpins until my heavy curls fell like a cloak around my shoulders. I clenched my fingers in my newly-freed hair and dropped my head onto my knees.

Too many thoughts were running through my head. My own were already too much; Carlisle and Rosalie's were not making me feel any better. In a vain attempt to find some semblence of mental peace, I rapidly started to quote one of the few books that could always make me feel better:

_"Three hundred and forty-eight years, six months, and nineteen days ago today the Parisians were awakened by the sound of loud peals from all the bells within the triple precincts of the City, the University, and the Town._

_"And yet the 6th of January, 1482, is not a day of which history takes much note. There was nothing extraordinary about the event which thus set all the bells and the citizens of Paris agog from early dawn. It was neither an attack from the Picards or the Burgundians, nor some shrine carried in procession, nor was it a student revolt in the vineyard of Laas, nor an entry of 'our greatly to be dreaded Lord othe King,' nor even the execution of thieves of either sex at the Palace of Justice…"_

"Emily?"

The voice made me raise my head in surprise. I had been so intent on focusing on the story to avoid my thoughts and everyone else's that I hadn't noticed Edward and Esme arriving. They both stood anxiously before me, Esme wringing her hands with worry, Edward's smooth brow furrowed at my expression. Behind them, the eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten with the purples and oranges of the sunrise. I told them flatly, "Carlisle's in the parlor. He's waiting for you both."

Esme flitted around Edward and kissed me lightly on the cheek before hurrying inside. But Edward studied me curiously. "Emily, what's wrong?" he asked.

I sighed and looked up into his marble face in hopes of stalling him. His liquid gold eyes flashed, and he said, "Don't bother, Emily. I know something's bothering you." He offered me his hand; I took it and let him pull me to my feet. "What's wrong?" Edward repeated.

"Edward," I answered, "our new sister is someone we've met before." His left eyebrow arched quizzically, and his thoughts demanded a better explanation. "It's Rosalie Hale, Edward," I revealed. "Our new sister is Rosalie Hale of all people."

He cursed under his breath and moved quickly into the house. He needed to know for himself. I followed him after several seconds and found the rest of my family in the parlor where I had left Carlisle and Rosalie.

Edward was looking down into the face of the girl burning on the sofa. His face was blank and empty of emotion, but his eyes, despite the warmth and brightness of their color, were cold and furious.


End file.
